


The Nearest Thousandth

by tamlane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Boss/Employee Relationship, Cross-Generation Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Incest, Older Man/Younger Woman, Uncle/Niece Incest, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 09:15:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamlane/pseuds/tamlane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victoire has been working for a pale shadow of the uncle she always admired, and she's determined to do whatever it takes to change that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nearest Thousandth

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't find any Percy/Victoire porn out there, so I decided to fix that. Thank you to lightofdaye for cheerleading and beta-reading. And special thanks to I., who has spared you, the reader, a shameful number of compound sentences and other atrocities. (March 2013)

"No, what you _need_ is to get laid."

Victoire froze. She couldn’t believe she said that out loud. Then again, she had been thinking it for the past two months. It was bound to slip out sooner or later. But Percy probably did not consider it an appropriate response to his reminder that he needed failure rates rounded off to the nearest thousandth.

How much difference could one decimal place really make, in the grand scheme of things?

Victoire glanced at him across their desks, which faced each other in the cramped office, and found him sitting perfectly still, his quill paused in midair. He continued to stare blankly at the parchment in front of him, but Victoire could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

"What did you say?"

Victoire couldn’t tell if their office was that quiet or if her senses were suddenly heightened. Either way, the hushed bass of Percy’s voice seemed to echo in the air, causing her breath to quicken. 

He had definitely become _just Percy_ to Victoire over the course of her internship. He insisted she call him _Mr. Weasley_ here at work, and it was only natural to call him _Uncle Percy_ around family. In the back of her mind, he would always be _Molly and Lucy's dad_. But when the office door was closed, as it was right now, he was just a man struggling in vain to control every detail of his own disintegration. Just _Percy_. 

And she could tell that, at some point, she had become _just Victoire_ to him. Recently he refused to meet her eye at all, speaking mostly to an area between her neck and breasts. He went out of his way to avoid brushing her hand as they exchanged documents. And once, deciding to test the waters, Victoire stood and leaned across him for a file, the curve of her breast grazing his bicep. The result was a screech of metal on linoleum as he abruptly kicked his chair away from her, rising to shuffle through the file cabinet in the corner.

There was no use calling it right or wrong. It was what it was. And as far as Victoire was concerned, the sooner they got it out of their systems, the better off they would be. He just needed a little push.

"I said," she repeated a little more loudly, "you need to get laid."

Another indefinite stretch of time passed as Victoire sat there watching him. At long last, he set his quill down across his blotter, keeping it the standard two inches from the edge, lest it roll unexpectedly and smear ink across the cherry veneer of his desk. Then his hand curled into a fist, but he still did not look up.

"Of all the crass, unprofessional, inappropriate—"

"Look," Victoire interrupted him. "I get it. Your wife left you."

_That_ made him look up in a hurry, although he still didn't meet her eye. His mouth became a thin line, two patches of pink rising on his freckled cheeks. Victoire couldn't tell what offended him more: the fact that she had mentioned Aunt Audrey, or the fact that she had dared interrupt her boss. "That is none—"

"—of my business?" she interrupted him again. He visibly flinched. "Please. You're a wreck. And you're acting a tyrant."

Percy's nostrils flared. "Perhaps you should take the rest of the afternoon off to clear your head."

Her forearms resting on the edge of her desk, Victoire leaned forward until her sensible white shirt gaped, flashing him with her cleavage. His gaze dropped accordingly. "My head is quite clear," she replied. "How’s yours?"

Percy was silent, and then he lowered his head as though in penance. He shifted in his chair, clenching and unclenching his fist before finally picking his quill back up. He cleared his throat. "I'm not acting a tyrant," he said, but his voice was softer. "I get things done."

Victoire tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Well, you're bound to get _something_ done, I suppose, when you spend fourteen hours a day cooped up in this office." Although Percy couldn’t see it, she tilted up her chin. "But frankly, all I ever see you do is arrange and rearrange files and check and double-check figures."

This time Percy tossed his quill aside with abandon, although he kept his gaze trained on his daily planner. "Well, maybe," he gritted, "I wouldn't have to double-check everything if my _intern_ could follow simple instructions."

"Simple instructions?" Victoire parroted. With a mirthless laugh, she sat back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Right. Such as—" and here she did her best Percy imitation "—make sure you file the broomstick safety report in the blue folder, but not unless it's been signed by the undersecretary because then it goes in the green folder—"

"—common sense, ‘green’ means it has to ‘go’—"

"—unless," Victoire continued, raising her voice to drown him out, "it's missed the morning owl already, and then it goes in the red folder for rush afternoon delivery—"

"—again, common sense!" Percy exclaimed, his voice rising now, too. "’Red’ is for ‘rush’."

"—and make sure every signature line is marked with a red arrow and the date line double-marked because no one ever remembers to date next to their signature—"

"—well, that happens all the time, and—"

"—and _if_ they forget, it has to go back in the red folder, and then we've lost a whole day in inter-departmental courier—"

"—that could be a very important day, young lady, especially if—"

"—yes, I know, _Merlin forbid_ we lose a day when tail twig legislation happens to be on the agenda of the International Trade Regulatory Committee." Victoire stopped to take a breath, feeling heat rush through her cheeks. Percy had his fingertips pressed to his eyebrows. "What could be simpler?" She threw her hands up. "Bloody hell, Percy, you have systems to sort out your systems."

His voice boomed through the office in response, louder than Victoire had ever heard it. "I’ve told you to call me Mr. Weasley when you’re in this office!"

Victoire stood, her palms flat against the open files on her desk, excitement flooding through her. "And I’ve tried to do everything you asked of me, _Mr. Weasley_ ," she replied, just above a whisper, "correctly and punctually, I might add." Her voice was shaking now, but it wasn’t from anger, and certainly not from fear. He was so close to snapping, and Victoire had hoped for this moment; she’d dreamt of it. Just one more turn of the screw. "I’m sorry your marriage fell apart, _Percy_ , and I'm sorry your career never went anywhere, _Percy_ , but maybe it’s time you stopped blaming everyone else for that and get a grip, _Percy_." 

" _Get a grip?!_ " he exclaimed, his eyes finally, _finally_ rising to meet hers, even as they narrowed in anger. Both of his fists now curled tightly, knuckles white. "Why, you insolent, ungrateful—"

"That’s it," Victoire taunted him, unable to suppress a faint smile from curling her lips. "Now we’re getting somewhere. You feel pretty out-of-control, don’t you? That's what this is all about, right? You're trying to get control over something. Anything."

"You have no idea what you’re—"

"Don’t I?" she interrupted yet again. "Isn’t that why you’re always nit-picking every owl I send and every report I write? Isn’t that why you go mental if I’m not here within your standard operating arrival time of exactly twelve minutes before I’m supposed to be here?"

"I’ve told you—"

"Yes, I know." Again Victoire mocked his pompous tone. "One should always plan to arrive at least twelve minutes before one is needed because it's important to always be ten minutes early, and at least two minutes will be consumed in the inevitable delays of everyday hustle and bustle."

Percy just stared at her, his lips parted as his breathing sped. Victoire’s gaze darted to his lips when his tongue snuck out to wet them.

"What does that even mean?" she asked. "Do you know? Does that mean that I should really plan to be here _fourteen_ minutes before I’m supposed to be here? Or sixteen? Where does it all end?"

Percy finally opened his mouth to respond, and when Victoire threw one hand up to stop him, he leaned forward in his chair. For the briefest of moments, she thought he might stand and approach her. She thought he might storm out of the office. But he just sat there, breathing heavily.

"You like giving orders, Percy?" she asked. "Why don’t you… _for once_ … give me a straightforward, clear, impossible-to-muck-up order, and we’ll see if I can’t meet your exacting standards." She had to catch her own breath, swallowing to wet her dry throat. "Just once."

"Lock the door."

Victoire’s heart jumped to her throat. Percy’s face was flushed, a blood vessel jumping in his right temple, but his voice was as tightly controlled as ever. Something about it was different, though. The pompousness and pretention was gone, leaving only pure command. Entirely unsure of what would happen once she complied, but desperate to find out, Victoire spun and cast both locking and silencing spells on the office door. Then she turned back to Percy, her wand shaking in her hand.

"Will that do?" she asked sweetly. "Or maybe you want to go behind me and check the spells, just to be sure?"

Victoire could see Percy grinding his teeth, but he made no move to check her spell. Instead, his gaze was once again focused on the v-shape at the top of her shirt. He glanced at her face and then back to her chest. "Take off your shirt."

The words were like a blow to the base of Victoire’s spine, causing her back to arch involuntarily even as her hands moved to comply. Percy sat motionless, fists resting on either side of his blotter, watching her fingers work over her buttons. All Victoire could think was that she couldn’t believe this was happening—not the fact that she was unbuttoning her shirt right in front of her uncle, but the fact that he wasn’t changing his mind. In fact, with every button she released, he looked more determined.

Victoire grasped the plackets of her shirt and paused long enough for him to look up. When their eyes met, she shrugged out of the shirt and tossed it to the floor.

"See?" she said, voice suddenly hoarse. "I knew you had this in you, Percy."

At that, he turned his head away, but Victoire didn’t plan on letting him stop now. If he needed more goading, she could do that. 

"What is it?" she demanded. "Don’t tell me you don’t have any constructive criticism. Come on." She placed her palms on the desk and leaned forward, and it was enough to snare his glance once again. "It must be killing you," she continued with much more bravado than she felt, "that neat, white shirt getting all wrinkled on the floor." She stomped on the discarded garment with her sensible pumps. "Oops," she said. "Stepped on it. Bet that’ll get it really dirty."

"Your skirt," he spat. "Take it off."

Victoire swallowed. She really hadn’t expected that, and she felt herself begin to get wet. She could see Percy warring with himself, despite the firmness of his voice. His gaze was half greedy and already half remorseful, and it only emphasized the multiple layers of wrongness here. He was her uncle, her supervisor, an authority figure, a mentor. But he hadn’t been much of any of those things since Aunt Audrey left him, and that was even worse. She knew he still loved Aunt Audrey. This was solace at best and a one-way path to destruction at worst.

Victoire was hoping to tip the scales more to the ‘solace’ side. 

She reached around to the back of her skirt, grateful that Percy could not see how badly her fingers were now shaking. Only one other man had ever seen her in nothing but her underwear. Teddy. It had been almost a year since the break-up, but she could still feel the sting when she saw Teddy with someone else. 

With that thought, she raised her chin. Then she unhooked her skirt and eased the zipper down. Percy pulled his bottom lip between his teeth then let go, teeth bared slightly. Victoire paused, giving him one last chance to stop her, and when he didn’t, she shimmied out of her skirt and let it drop to the floor around her feet.

"How’s that?" she asked, fists clenching at her sides as Percy’s gaze traveled the length of her body. And though she was referring to her ability to follow ‘simple instructions,’ a compliment would not have been unwelcome. She knew she wasn’t unattractive. She had her father’s height; her hair, while tinged with Weasley red, was the length and texture of her mother’s. She was lithe and pale and had few enough freckles that she admired them on her uncles and cousins.

The office air was cold, but it was the weight of Percy’s gaze that made her nipples tighten under the satin cups of her bra and gooseflesh rise over her arms and torso. He finally opened his mouth as though to speak, but instead a strangled noise left his throat, and he buried his face in his hands.

Victoire felt a sudden pang of uncertainty. "Percy?" she nudged him, jerking when she heard her voice crack.

He dropped his hands and slid his chair back, the sharp sound echoing through the room. She waited, breathless, until at last he lifted his chin on a tiny nod and said softly, "Come here."

Victoire took a deep breath and kicked her skirt aside. Heart hammering in her throat, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and slowly maneuvered her way around their desks—closer, closer—until she stood right between Percy and his desk. 

Despite how close she was to him, and how close to being naked, Percy didn't look at her. His head was lowered, his balding crown paler than the rest of him and shining slightly in the harsh office lighting. He seemed weary as he slid off his horn-rimmed glasses, taking care to fold them without touching the lenses. When he reached forward to place them on his desk, his sleeve brushed against her side, and Victoire jumped slightly.

She expected him to sit back again;instead, his other hand rose until he was gripping the edge of his desk in both hands, caging her in. Victoire looked down at those hands, white-knuckled as ever and covered in freckles and light red hair. The silence between them was nearly painful, and she longed to break it, longed to touch him, but he just gripped his desk, his gaze now somewhere around her navel. 

"Percy," she whispered.

"Shh," he hissed. His eyes closed so tightly that his crow’s feet stretched all the way to his temples. Then, quieter still: " _Shh._ " At last he opened his eyes. Victoire could feel her whole body shaking as he lifted his hand, his fingertips hovering just over the waistband of her knickers.

Part of her still did not believe that Percy would touch her like this. But the thought had no sooner crossed her mind than he took a deep breath, bent his head back, and looked up at her. Her knees almost buckled. His eyes were so blue and bare without his glasses, and there was something so vulnerable about the red lashes that framed them and the marks on either side of his nose where his glasses had been. 

It was more than that, though. There was an obvious plea in his eyes, but Victoire didn't know what it was for. Did he want her to stop him? To give him permission? To touch him first? When she refused to do any of those things, he let go of the breath he had been holding and spread his fingers in a tentative caress over her torso. 

Victoire reached to steady herself on his desk. Percy's hand was warm and soft and seemed disproportionately large against her small frame. But what made her breath catch was that he touched her as though he were trying to determine that she were real. It made Victoire wonder how long it had been since he had touched a woman. Aunt Audrey had been gone several months now.

As though reading her mind, Percy pulled his hand back abruptly. His whole body was visibly tense. Victoire opened her mouth to encourage him, but before she could form words, he threw his arms around her middle as though she might disapparate at any moment, his cheek flattened against her belly in an awkward embrace.

Completely at a loss for how to respond to such a sudden change of tack, Victoire raised her hands up and away from him, staring down at him in shock. "Uncle Percy?" Her uncertain squeak was met with something between a laugh and a sob, and he squeezed her even more tightly to him. Was this all he wanted? To _hug_ her? Because she didn’t have to take her clothes off for that. Her heart was a riot of conflicting emotions. She felt awe at his rare display of weakness. She felt the hollowing ache of sympathy. And at the same time, she couldn’t help feeling irritated over her own unfulfilled desire.

At last, with a heavy sigh, she slid one hand into his thinning hair, which somehow felt both soft and wiry, and she cradled his head in the crook of her other arm. "It’s… it’s going to be all right, Uncle Percy," she soothed him. 

"Yeah," he panted, "yeah, I know." He dragged his cheek over her torso, faint traces of stubble scratching her sensitive skin, until his forehead was pressed against her, just below her breasts. "Yeah," he repeated more softly. "It’s going to be all right." He flattened his lips against her in a not-quite kiss, inhaling deeply through his nose. 

Victoire continued to stroke his hair, and soon Percy responded by letting go slightly. He smoothed one hand over the small of her back and slid the other around to her hip, rubbing his thumb in light circles over her hipbone. "Yeah," he whispered against her navel, and this time it was definitely a kiss that he placed wetly against her skin. "Yeah," again, and he dragged his lips over her ribs. "Yes," and the hand on her back moved down, fingers spreading over her the silk covering her bum.

And then everything shifted.

Percy half stood, kicking his chair away with a loud noise, and Victoire found herself crushed between him and the edge of his desk. After a momentary pause, his lips closed around her nipple, over the fabric of her bra. Victoire’s back arched instantly, and Percy released a desperate groan, lifting his mouth only long enough for his long fingers to yank her bra cup down, and then attacking her nipple with renewed determination.

Their motions became a rapid blur then as each action of one provoked a more intense reaction in the other. Victoire threw her head back, and Percy reacted by moving to her other breast, this time pulling down her bra cup with his teeth. She let out a keen as his teeth scraped over her nipple, and he responded by pressing his torso between her legs to give her some friction at last. She curled her leg around his and started to grind against him, and he let out a yelp before stuffing one hand into her hair and moving to mouth hungrily at her neck. They seemed to be moving in awkward starts and jerks, but the wetness of his lips and tongue and the glide of her crotch against him were all heat and smoothness.

Just as she felt tension start to mount between her legs, Percy pulled away, his hands curling around her biceps. "I can't," he gasped. "Your father—" His voice caught, his eyebrows knitted as though in pain. For a moment, and despite the roar of blood in her veins, Victoire almost stopped. She understood. There were many times throughout the years when her father was the only one of his siblings who was on speaking terms with him. She could only assume it was a Head Boy thing.

Without breaking eye contact, Victoire tugged on his necktie, which was so meticulously knotted that she had to dig her nails in to work it free. Percy didn't stop her, but he maintained his pained expression. She shook her head. "He never has to know," she whispered.

"We'll know."

It was her turn to shush him now, and when she did, his nostrils flared. His fingers dug into her arms, his eyes flickering back and forth between hers and then down to her lips. As though on command, Victoire licked them. 

As the moment hung there, she felt insane to think she was wetting her lips to kiss her uncle, who had once read stories to her and taught her basic swish-and-flick movements with her toy wand. She had always loved him maybe more than the others, because he wanted to be needed. He wanted to guide, and he wanted to be asked for his opinion. He wanted to be taken seriously.

So did Victoire. As the oldest of three children and the oldest of a dozen grandchildren, she was expected to be mature but never treated as seriously as she deserved for accepting the role. Percy, however, had always spoken to her like an adult. And now here they were, two adults, in a very serious, adult position. It was surreal to see Percy's pupils so dark and wide, to see his cheeks so flushed with lust and feel his hands grasp her as though he couldn't figure out whether to push her away or crush her to him.

"Percy, please—"

With a raw force of which Victoire couldn’t have imagined him capable, Percy thrust his fingers into her hair and slammed his mouth over hers, humming as his tongue plundered her mouth. She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt in response, jerking it free of his trousers. As he did with everything else, Percy put the full, stubborn focus of his will behind his kiss, and Victoire clenched in anticipation of what was to come, her hands flying over the buttons of his shirt.

Percy’s mouth worked against hers in a heavy and almost sloppy rhythm, too desperate to evince any skill but electrifying in its sheer intensity. Victoire tried to pull him even closer by his shirt, her arms squashed between them as she grinded herself shamelessly against his thigh. He finally pulled away to breathe, his chest heaving, and Victoire took the opportunity to push the plackets of his shirt aside, gasping as she took in the sight before her. Percy had always been thin, like her father, but now he was gaunt, bones sharp under skin that sagged slightly, as though he had just lost a great deal of weight. She knew that he worked through lunch, and she never saw him eat, but this was— 

She jumped, her attention averted, as she felt him work free the catch of her bra. He looked possessed now as he pulled the garment off and let it drop. She didn't know if it was that look in his eyes or his wasted appearance that made her pause, but suddenly all she could think was, _This is really happening_. Panic, together with excitement, surged through her, and it must have been evident on her face.

"Do you want to stop?" Percy asked, a tension to his voice that she had never heard before. It sent a thrill through her to know that she had caused it. When she didn't answer, he swallowed thickly, and though it might have been a trick of the light, she could have sworn she saw his eyes begin to water. "I don't want to stop," he admitted in a whisper.

"No," she whispered back, feeling a renewed flood of tenderness for him just as fire pooled low in her belly. "No, don't stop."

But the momentum was temporarily halted, as though neither of them knew exactly how to proceed. Percy pulled back to look at the skin he had uncovered, his jaw slack as his thumb circled one of her taut nipples. Victoire mimicked the touch on him, lightly scraping her nails over the ginger hair on his chest before running the pad of her finger over one tiny red nipple.

His pelvis jerked forward at the touch, and for the first time, Victoire noticed the bulge there. Dazed by both curiosity and disbelief, she moved her hands to his belt. Percy made a strangled sound and grasped her shoulders as though to steady himself, but he didn’t stop her when she drew the belt free of the buckle and began working the button of his trousers. Suddenly she became aware of every sound, the clicking of his zipper echoing in the space as Victoire lowered it.

Percy’s hands tightened on her shoulders, his eyes closing. "Victoire," he started to say, "that’s… I don’t… _ah_!" He bared his teeth as she reached into his pants and wrapped her hand around his hot, rigid length. And the momentum returned full force. He tangled both hands in her hair, his fingertips digging into her scalp and his forehead resting on hers.

His hips made small thrusts as she stroked him, and a shudder ran through Victoire at the motion, in awe of the bare masculinity she had not allowed herself to fully recognize in him until that moment. She pushed his pants and trousers down, wanting to see firsthand, and mesmerized as he sprang into view: thick and veined, the delicate-looking skin of his head appearing and disappearing behind his foreskin as she worked him with her thin fingers. 

It was almost too heady, the thought of having that inside her. Victoire licked her lips over a ragged breath before managing to speak. "Touch me like I’m touching you." 

Percy tensed, his hips stilling at once, and Victoire understood his reluctance. It was one thing for him to be on the passive side, to be touched. It was quite another to—

She gasped, stunned, when he kicked her legs apart as though he had just been waiting for permission. "Yeah," Percy whispered against her lips, giving her a chaste kiss as one of his hands trailed down her side. "All right. Put your hands on my hips. And hold still."

His voice was soft, but the command was back in his tone, and Victoire complied at once, not understanding his reasoning but wanting it so much that she didn’t care. Perhaps he felt it would be too much for him, their combined touch. Perhaps he felt it would be too much for her, and she would rush things. That was entirely possible, given the way the blood sang in her ears and her body screamed for more.

Her legs shook as Percy dragged his fingertips over the waistband of her knickers. "Be still," he repeated quietly. She nodded against him, their foreheads still pressed together, their breaths mingling damply between them. Victoire felt the full weight of his charge when his fingers finally dipped beneath her knickers, pressing against her mound in a way that went straight to her clitoris. _Merlin_ , she thought, _leave it to an obsessive-compulsive control freak to know exactly how to touch a person without really touching them._

She could actually _hear_ Percy swallow, and then he was speaking softly to her, the words caressing her lips. "I can already tell how wet you are." Another chaste kiss. "Don’t move."

"I won’t," Victoire assured him, though it was taking every bit of fortitude she had.

And then his fingers glided down through an embarrassing amount of slickness, and Victoire whimpered. "Oh my," Percy said, and though his tone was one of awe, there was something else there that made her even wetter. "My, oh my, Victoire." It was almost a reprimand.

Her whole pelvis was trembling from the effort of holding still, and it was only more difficult when Percy started lightly circling her clitoris with one fingertip and then dipping inside her only the shallowest bit. Victoire dug her fingers into his hips, but he merely repeated the motions again and again, and then he angled his lips over hers, drawing her into a languid kiss full of twining tongues and low moans.

Just when she thought she couldn’t take the combined attentions any longer, Percy pulled away from the kiss, his lips moving across her jaw to her ear. "What else do you want me to do?" he whispered against the shell of her ear.

At the sensation, Victoire could no longer hold back. She thrust against his hand, her own hands flying up to cradle his head. "For once, Percy," she said, pulling him back so that she could look him in the eye, "I want you to use your desk for something that makes you happy."

Percy’s hand froze, his muscles tightening. It was as though he were awakening, and for a moment Victoire thought that this was it. He was coming to his senses, and this was all going to stop, and he might even have to fire her. So she was shocked when he reached behind her and pushed his blotter aside, without any indication that he cared about the mess it made of his carefully stacked parchments and meticulously sorted files.

"I want that, too," Percy said, shoving her knickers down her hips. He barely gave her time to work them the rest of the way off before he lifted her and deposited her onto his desk. He studied her eyes, his hands digging into her waist keeping him an arm’s length away. "What else do you want?"

Victoire tipped her chin up and shifted on the cool wood of his desk, spreading her legs wider. "I want you to come here." 

"I want that, too," Percy repeated. His eyes had that pleading look again, as though he were asking her forgiveness for wanting what he did. Nevertheless, he moved forward, his hands once again sifting through her hair, the hair on his forearms brushing against her hardened nipples. His jaw clenched when Victoire wrapped her legs around him. When he spoke again, his voice was so soft that she had to watch his swollen lips to make out what he was saying. "What else do you want?"

He didn’t flinch or protest at all when she once again wrapped her fingers around his cock. "I want you inside me," she whispered back.

Percy nodded. "I want that, too," he said, like a prayer, following her as she leaned back and propped herself up on her arms. 

As badly as she wanted it, all Victoire could think in that moment was: _I'm about to have sex with my uncle, who is also my boss, on his desk in our shared office, and there is no way this isn't going to make things weird._ Papers rustled under her hair. She could feel a few sticking to her back, and idly wondered which reports they would be redoing later, but Percy did not seem worried at all. He put his weight on one hand, watching as he guided the head of his cock to her entrance.

Victoire expected him to pause, but he didn't, and she closed her eyes against the pressure as he started to push forward into her body with the precise care with which he did everything else. He made a strangled sound when she lifted her hips to urge him on, and then he thrust forward suddenly. "Tight," he gritted, and she knew she had to be. She hadn't had sex in almost a year. 

Percy drew back and thrust again, this time forcefully enough to elicit a soft cry from her, but he still wasn't completely buried. Victoire opened her eyes to find him greedily watching where they were joined. She wished that she could see it, too. As though sensing her eyes on him, he looked up, and his face immediately softened. "Oh, Victoire," he breathed, lowering himself over her until he rested on his forearms, one hand caressing her jaw.

"Feels good," she said on a sigh, and he answered with a leisurely kiss as his hips began pumping his thick length in and out of her. As her own hips rose to meet him, Victoire marveled at the sensation of having him buried inside her, simultaneously foreign sharpness and velvet glide. She reached between them, pushing his shirt aside until she could feel the rasp of his wiry chest hair against her breasts with every movement.

"Yes, it does," Percy agreed between kisses. She didn't know what she had expected when she egged him on earlier—a quick fuck, maybe even an angry one—but Percy moved inside her in such a languid but purposeful way that her mind already wandered to what it would be like to be in a bed with him, to spend hours doing exactly this without a desk under her and papers rustling around them and him still almost completely clothed. 

Then Percy reached between them, his thumb again pressing down on her mound in a way that shot tingles of sensation through her whole lower body. She'd never been touched like that, and her hips sped to get more of it. "Good?" he asked. Victoire nodded, licking her dry lips. A pause, then, "Want more?"

She nodded even more vigorously, and Percy moved his thumb down, stroking directly on her most sensitive spot. Victoire's whole pelvis lifted from the desk, craving more and feeling her body creating an entirely new wave of moisture to get it. 

"Think you can come?" Percy whispered gently in her ear.

"Y-yes," she stuttered, her throat dry from panting, and her arousal shooting even higher when she realized how much he was holding himself back. She didn't want to hold back. She vaguely registered the deep rumble of his groan as she abandoned any attempt, grinding herself shamelessly against his hand, each motion sending his cock deeper inside her. As her body tightened, coil-like, Percy spat an expletive she never thought she'd hear him say, and it was the push she needed. She threw her head back and cried out as release slammed through her.

Percy repeated the expletive several times as she spasmed around him, and then, as though he couldn't wait another minute, he lifted himself off of her and dug his fingers into her hips, hauling them up off the desk. "Yes," Victoire nearly laughed, joyous both in her climax and his sudden abandon, "let go." A growl ripped from his throat as he started pounding into her, intent on getting off. He didn't look at her face, but focused his full attention on their coupling, a fierce set to jaw as he pistoned in and out of her.

It was one of the sexiest things Victoire had ever seen, watching Percy Weasley lose control like that. Obscene sounds reverberated around the office, the desks banging together under the force of his thrusts, the natural but dirty sound of her wetness as he ravaged her. With a sudden panic as the reality of his raw need set in, and realizing that she should have mentioned it much sooner, Victoire said, "Percy, you have to—"

"I will," he snapped. "Close, so close." He continued hammering into her, his whole body growing taut with strain, and then he pulled out abruptly. He propped himself on a dangerously shaky arm as he spurted silently over her belly, the thick, lukewarm ejaculate pooling in her navel. He hovered there, his eyes closed and lips parted in an expression of bliss. Then, not even caring about the mess, he scooped her into his arms, crushing their bodies together and trembling the entire time.

Victoire perched on the edge of his desk, wrapped in his embrace, and squeezing her arms and legs around him as though that would keep reality from settling back in. Both of their chests heaved from exertion, and the stickiness of sweat and come between them seemed unbearably carnal. The worst part about ending this embrace was that they would have to look at each other, and Percy must have felt the same way, because he clung to her tightly.

She had no idea what to say. They couldn't stay like this the rest of the afternoon. Everything that had seemed imperative a moment before became heavy, oppressive in the silence. Her clothes were all over the office, papers and files scattered everywhere, furniture askew. It was like an anti-Percy had come raging through the space.

When Percy finally loosened his hold, the strangest thing happened. He pulled back to look at her, and instead of looking awkward, he looked… _dignified_. There was no other word for it. In fact, there was a quiet dignity in his gaze that she hadn't seen in years, maybe. "That was perfect," he whispered, the praise almost harsh in its delivery. Victoire's heart surged as he leaned forward to place a light kiss on her lips.

"Percy," she said uncertainly. She was acutely aware of her nudity all of the sudden, especially as contrasted to his state of disheveled attire, and she felt a blush creep across her cheeks. "I don't—" Her voice caught. _Know what to say? Know how to act?_

He righted his underwear and his trousers as though he did this every day and bent to pick up her knickers and bra. "Everything's going to be all right," he replied. He handed her bra to her and untwisted her knickers, holding them out level with her knees. "Step."

As Victoire obeyed, she tried to imagine that she didn't hear that pompous tone beneath his proclamation that indicated his own fear and reluctance. Percy waved his wand over them, cleaning away the evidence of their union, and started buttoning his shirt back up. She fastened her bra back into place, both of them avoiding each other's eyes as they pulled themselves back together.

Percy cleared his throat. Then he reached forward and picked up his glasses, wiping them unnecessarily on his loose shirttail before settling them back over his eyes. And just like that, the shutters closed again.

"Miss Weasley," he said in his usual firm, businesslike tone, stuffing his shirttail back into his trousers and moving aside to begin straightening the papers on his desk, "will you please get dressed and help me put this office back in order?"

Victoire did not immediately comply. Instead, she stared as Percy abandoned the papers to re-knot his necktie, working with practiced ease and getting it right on the first try, even without the aid of a mirror. She felt a twinge of annoyance, just as another spasm fluttered through her pelvis at the thought of exactly what else his fingers could do. She knew that it had to be like this. Part of her was grateful for his sudden professionalism, but part of her felt somehow cheated.

"Miss Weasley? Did you hear me?" His tone was brisk, and when Victoire looked up, she saw that he was once again staring at that expanse between her neck and breasts.

"Of course, _Mr. Weasley_ ," Victoire answered. For the first time ever, she felt as though Percy were talking down to her on purpose. She numbly returned to her side of their desks and scooped up her skirt and shirt, running her wand over them to tidy them as best as she could. He ignored her entirely then, arranging his precious documents with care, lacking even the decency to work with shaking hands. 

Victoire dressed as quickly as possible, although her own hands were shaking worse than ever. She didn't have a right to be upset; she knew that. She had intentionally pushed Percy. And she didn't know how she had expected this to play out, but this nonchalance on his part was jarring. Or was she the one who was being ridiculous? Was there something wrong with her, that she couldn't return to work as though nothing had happened?

She tossed her hair back, tucking her own shirttail back in. "And as to those braking charm failure rates," she snapped, "I think we can agree that rounding to a hundredth is quite satisfactory."

For once, Percy didn't object. But he didn’t meet her eye, either.

_The End_


End file.
